Dear Sir:
At the house of Lady Bowater in Leicestershire in 1796, I met with your Trio in E-flat (for Violin, Viola and Bass). Its originality and beauty gave me inexpressible delight; indeed it was a new sense to me. Ever since I have anxiously endeavoured to procure your compositions as much so as the war could permit. Allow me to present to you the first volume of my “Sacred Melodies” which contain your divine Adagios appropriated to the British church. I am now engaged upon a work entitled “The Oratorio of Judah” giving a history of that peculiar people from the Jewish scriptures. The object of this letter is to express a hope that I may induce you to compose an Overture for this work upon which you can bring all the force of your sublime imagination (if it please you) in the key of D minor. For this service my friend Mr. Clementi will accept your draft upon him for one hundred guineas.
I have the honour to be, dear Sir,
Your faithful servant
William Gardiner.
There is no date, but as “Judah” was criticized in “The Musical Review” in 1821, it is presumable that the letter was written in 1820. Gardiner deplores the fact that he received no reply from Beethoven, although the Empress had thanked him for a copy of the “Sacred Melodies” which he had sent to her. Evidently he did not realize that Beethoven was not the man to feel complimented by having his “divine Adagios” turned into hymn-tunes. An occurrence which may have cost Beethoven a pang was the loss of his faithful helper Oliva, who took his passport in December, 1820, and went to St. Petersburg, where he settled as a teacher of languages.
A Portrait Painted by Stieler
Another of the portraits of Beethoven which have been made familiar by reproductions was painted in 1820, though begun in 1819. Joseph Stieler, who enjoyed wide reputation as a portrait painter, had come to Vienna from Munich to paint the portrait of Emperor Franz in the latter year. He remained till some time in 1820 and made the acquaintance of Beethoven through a letter of introduction probably given to him by Brentano. Beethoven took a liking to him and gave him some sittings—three, according to the testimony of the painter himself, thus disproving Schindler’s statement that “sitting after sitting was granted and never a complaint uttered.” On the contrary, the Conversation Book presents the artist as pleading for a little more time; and because Beethoven refused to sit longer, Stieler had to exercise his imagination or memory in painting the hands. In fact, the painting never received the finishing touches but remained, as those who have seen it testify, “sketchy.” In March Stieler writes in the Conversation Book: “Have you written to Frankfort that I have begun your portrait?—You must determine the destination of the picture. I say that I am painting it for myself.” In April Stieler asks the question: “In what key is your mass? I want to write on the sheet: (Mass in—)” Beethoven writes the answer: “Missa solemnis in D,” and Stieler: “After it has been exhibited I shall send it to Brentano—I thank you thousands and thousands of times for so much patience.” Beethoven’s friends refer frequently to the picture in their written conversations with Beethoven. One says: “That you have been painted en face is the result of more extended study of your physiognomy. This view shows your spirit much better than a profile.” Schindler writes that he prefers the portrait by Schimon: “There is more character in it—all agree on that—You were very well two years ago; now you are always ailing.” J. Czerny writes: “We were just talking about your portrait. Oliva thinks you are well hit off.” The artist visits Beethoven again at Mödling in July and writes: “Before the exhibition I shall paint your portrait again, but full life-size. Your head makes an excellent effect full face, and it was so appropriate because Haydn was on one side and Mozart on the other.” Stieler dated the canvass “1819,” but this can only refer to the time when it was begun. It remained for a while in the possession of the family of the painter, then passed through several hands by purchase until it reached those of Countess Sauerma in Berlin, in whose possession it was when Frimmel and Kalischer inspected it for purposes of description. Schindler says it reproduces Beethoven’s characteristic expression faithfully and that it met with approval, though fault was found with the pose. Beethoven’s contemporaries were not used to see him with his head bowed down as Stieler represents him; on the contrary, he carried his head high even when suffering physical pain. A lithographic reproduction of the portrait was made by Fr. Dürck and published by Artaria in 1826.
In April, 1860, the author[31] had a conversation with Horzalka in which the latter spoke very highly of Schindler and his disinterested fidelity to Beethoven. Horzalka also said that in 1820 or 1821, as near as he could recollect, the wife of a Major Baumgarten took boy boarders in a house then standing where the Musikverein’s hall now stands in Vienna. Her sister, Baroness Born, lived with her. Frau Baumgarten had a son who studied at Blöchlinger’s Institute, and Beethoven’s nephew was amongst her boarders. One evening Horzalka called there and found only the Baroness Born at home. Soon another caller came and stayed to tea. It was Beethoven. Among other topics, Mozart came on the tapis and the Baroness asked Beethoven, in writing of course, which of Mozart’s operas he thought most of. “Die Zauberflöte,” said Beethoven and, suddenly clasping his hands and throwing up his eyes exclaimed, “Oh, Mozart!” As Horzalka had, as was the custom, always considered “Don Giovanni” the greatest of Mozart’s operas, this opinion by Beethoven made a very deep impression upon him. Beethoven invited the Baroness to come to his lodgings and have a look at his Broadwood pianoforte.
Arrested as a Vagrant
In 1820 Professor Höfel, who lived at Salzburg in the last years of his life and who engraved the Latronne portrait of Beethoven for Artaria, was appointed to a professorship of drawing in Wiener Neustadt. A year or two afterward, as he said,[32] he was one evening with Eisner and other colleagues in the garden of the tavern “Zum Schleifen,” a little way out of town. The Commissioner of Police was a member of the party. It was autumn and already dark when a constable came and said to the Commissioner: “Mr. Commissioner, we have arrested somebody who will give us no peace. He keeps on yelling that he is Beethoven; but he’s a ragamuffin, has no hat, an old coat, etc.—nothing by which he can be identified.” (Herr Commissär, wir haben Jemand arretirt, welcher uns kein’ Ruh gibt. Er schreit immer dass er Beethoven sei. Er ist aber ein Lump, hat kein’ Hut, alter Rock, etc., kein Aufweis wer er ist, etc.) The Commissioner ordered that the man be kept under arrest until morning, “then we will examine him and learn who he is.” Next morning the company was very anxious to know how the affair turned out, and the Commissioner said that about 11 o’clock at night he was waked by a policeman with the information that the prisoner would give them no peace and had demanded that Herzog, Musical Director in Wiener Neustadt, be called to identify him. So the Commissioner got up, dressed, went out and waked up Herzog, and in the middle of the night went with him to the watchhouse. Herzog, as soon as he cast eyes on the man exclaimed, “That is Beethoven!” He took him home with him, gave him his best room, etc. Next day came the burgomaster, making all manner of apologies. As it proved, Beethoven had got up early in the morning, and, slipping on a miserable old coat and, without a hat, had gone out to walk a little. He got upon the towpath of the canal and kept on and on; seems to have lost his direction, for, with nothing to eat, he had continued on until he brought up at the canal-basin at the Ungerthor. Here, not knowing where he was, he was seen looking in at the windows of the houses, and as he looked so like a beggar the people had called a constable who arrested him. Upon his arrest the composer said, “I am Beethoven.” “Of course, why not?” (Warum nicht gar?) said the policeman; “You’re a tramp: Beethoven doesn’t look so.” (Ein Lump sind Sie; so sieht der Beethoven nicht aus.) Herzog gave him some decent clothes and the burgomaster sent him back to Baden, where he was then living, in the magisterial state-coach. This simple story is the foundation for the fine narrative related as a fact in Vienna that Beethoven had got into this scrape following troops from Vienna who had a sham battle near Wiener Neustadt, and taking notes for his “Wellington’s Victory”—which whole story thus goes to the wall.
A letter written from Baden on September 10, 1821, to Tobias Haslinger accompanying a canon[33] on the words “O Tobias dominus Haslinger, O, O!” deserves to be given here to show that Beethoven’s high spirits could at times dominate him in spite of his general misery.